


The overwhelming allure of the shockingly unattainable

by Fatale (femme)



Category: White Collar
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:32:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been a week and like Neal warned, Jones can’t get close to Bowman. A week of Neal and Peter studiously ignoring each and the whole office notices, whispers about it, speculates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The overwhelming allure of the shockingly unattainable

The overwhelming allure of the shockingly unattainable  
Neal/Peter, Neal/OMC  
WC: 2560  
Rating: R  
Warnings: Mentions past sex work, and what I would consider consent issues. Please keep that in mind before reading.

A/N: Rothkos are generally worth more than a couple of million, but I don't like them, so. *shrugs*

Thank you to [](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/profile)[**elrhiarhodan**](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/), who is ridiculously nice and patient with me. Of course, I went back and meddled with the story after she fixed it, so I'm sure I messed stuff up. Any remaining typos, mistakes or general fuckery belong to me.

 

 

 

 

“His name is Marcus Bowman. Wall street day trader who likes a bit of insider trading on the side,” Peter says and a large image pops up on the screen. “The SECs been tracking him for a while. He's made too much money, too fast. We need to nail him on insider trading so we can get him to flip on his source."

“Good looking guy,” Diana remarks. She shrugs when everyone turns to look at her. “What? I’m gay, not blind.”

“Almost as pretty as our boy Caffrey, here,” Jones says jokingly to Neal with a slightly indulgent grin.

Neal sees the picture on the screen and goes very still.

Peter says directly to Neal, “You’re going undercover. The Bureau would give you an alias, but I’m sure you’ve already got a better one in place."

“Peter, " Neal says slowly, "I don’t think I can.” Which clearly catches Peter by surprise.

“Attack of conscience? Never thought I'd see the day," Diana says.

Peter closes his eyes, can feel the Neal-shaped headache throb behind his temples. “What did you do?”

Neal puts his hands up, in mock surrender. “ _Allegedly_ , I may have helped a Rothko of his disappear.”

Peter whistles. “At least a few million. What’d you do? Shimmy up the drainpipe and cut a hole through his window? Or parachute onto the roof from a helicopter?"

“Um, neither. Because I’m not Catwoman or James Bond.” He doesn’t add that he’s actually done both of those things before, just not on the Bowman job.

“No, you’re _James Bonds_ ,” Peter points out sardonically. “So how does he know it was you?”

Neal fidgets, can feel his face grow hot. “Sometimes,” he says slowly, “the fastest way into someone’s penthouse is the direct route.”

Jones flips through the file noisily. “I don’t see where he reported the Rothko missing.”

“He didn’t,” Peter says suddenly, and Neal can see all the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. “I’d heard whispers of that about Bowman, but I wasn’t sure until now.”

“What?” Diana asks and Jones looks confused.

Peter answers, but his eyes never leave Neal. “He likes to discreetly take men back to his place.”

Jones frowns. "Why hide it? He's got more money than he knows what to do with. It couldn't hurt his reputation that much."

"Boys club like that? Of course it would," Diana says and Peter feels a warm flush of pride at her acuity.

“Sometimes he uses an escort service,” Neal volunteers with a pained expression.

“Glad that rules me out,” Diana snorts.

“Is there anything you won’t do for a con?” Peter's voice is soft, deceptively calm.

Neal shrugs. “Kill someone,” he says and meets Peter’s eyes squarely, unblinking, as if daring him to make a judgment.

Peter always thought he knew Neal’s boundaries, but even this one takes him by surprise. It’s clever - every one of Neal's cons are - but he has trouble wrapping his mind around the seediness of it. It’s almost _prostitution_. He feels his head swimming with the new information, and he desperately wants to know if Neal slept with this guy. If Neal was the person he thought he was.

But there’s a time and a place for everything and Neal’s sitting up, looking steadfastly straight ahead, shoulders slightly hunched, so Peter forces it out of his head for the moment.

He makes a decision. “Congratulations, Jones. You get to go undercover as a trader.”

“Peter,” Neal says, "It’s hard to fake trading and with a company that size, it’s going to be difficult to get close to Bowman.”

“I don’t pimp my agents out,” Peter says and nearly feels sorry when he sees Neal flinch as the blow lands.

“Thanks, boss,” Jones sighs, relief evident.

“Sounds like you don’t need me,” Neal says and stands up, his movements jerky and rigid and uncomfortable. “I’ll be at my desk.”

Peter watches Neal leave and an uncomfortable silence reigns over the room. Diana clears her throat. “We’ll clear out. Jones and I can work out the details and run them by you,” she says in the canny, knowing way she has, and Peter’s left alone at the conference table, staring at Neal's empty seat.

 

***

 

It’s been a week and like Neal warned, Jones can’t get close to Bowman. A week of Neal and Peter studiously ignoring each and the whole office notices, whispers about it, speculates.

Peter keeps thinking, another night of sleep will make this go away. Twenty-four more hours and he can forgive Neal, and they can move past this. The thing is, he’s not even sure that there’s anything to forgive. So Neal pretended to be a - his mind can’t even say it - and maybe slept with one of his marks. For a goddamn painting. For _pigments and canvas_ , and it is not any of his business what Neal may or may not have done with his own body as a consenting adult _years_ ago. But the thought of it makes Peter furious, tears something apart inside of him. He hates that he feels this way.

Peter can't quite wrap his mind around it, disassemble and understand it, and it makes him hate Neal just a little, too.

He sees Neal at his desk, catches his attention and motions for Neal to come. Neal slides the paper he was studying back into the battered folder, and makes his way towards Peter’s office like he’d rather be going somewhere, possibly anywhere else.

 

“You’re going undercover,” he says, before Neal has a chance to say anything.

“He knows I took the painting,” Neal says flatly. “All the sensors were bypassed from inside. None of the locks were tampered with.”

“Did you do it while he was sleeping?” Peter asks, staring somewhere over Neal’s shoulder.

“Of course.”

Peter nods once, shakily. That was that. Men didn’t usually fall asleep with expensive and beautiful companions before they’d had sex. “Bit of a risk, wasn’t it? That he wouldn’t ask you to leave right away?”

“I didn’t give him his money’s worth the first time and, God, do we have to do this?” Neal asks, if possible, seeming to enjoy this conversation even less than Peter. When no answer comes, he continues, “Yes, yes, it was an enormous risk that paid off.”

“Okay,” Peter says, drawing the word out. “Okay. I made a few calls, and you’re going back to him.”

“Thought the Bureau didn’t pimp people out.”

“That rule only applies to my agents, not CIs,” Peter says. It’s an ugly thing to say, but Peter can’t help that he feels a terrible sort of satisfaction at how pale Neal goes.

Neal doesn't answer at first and then, “He may try to kill me.”

“You’ll wear your watch with the tracking and recording in it and we’ll be parked right outside his building. If you get into any trouble at all, we’ll be there in less than three minutes,” Peter says and he means it. He’s pissed for sure, he’s hurt and something else that he can’t put a name to, but he would never let anything happen to Neal. Never.

Neal nods his assent.

 

 

***

 

The door opens and Neal fights the urge to duck his head. He knows Bowman, has always known men like him. He likes his companions bold, mouthy and pretty, likes to chase them and own them. It’s why Neal got the job the first time and it’s why he's taken it again. Stealing a cool two million from someone and then showing up on the doorstep for round two has got to be the very definition of bold.

He remembers Bowman’s face clearly: the handsome planes and aristocratic nose with slicked back, elegant hair, his cold eyes. It makes him shiver. He’d basically confirmed to Peter he slept with this man for a painting. What he didn’t tell Peter was, it was also because he'd wanted to. Neal likes smart, ruthless people with an edge of mystery, and more than a little cruelty. Kate had all of that in spades. It's a distinct possibility that he's a little messed up.

 

“You,” Bowman says, unsurprised, door in one hand and a drink in the other.

“Me,” Neal confirms with a sly smile he doesn’t feel. He’s aware of what the smile looks like on his face, how flattering it is when he turns his head slightly down so he can peer at people beneath the brim of his hat.

“Didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

“Really?” Neal says. “Don’t sell yourself so short.” And that does it; Neal can see the decision made as clearly if Bowman has written it down. Appealing to his ego is the best way in. Of course he wants to believe he's the one man Neal wouldn’t be able to forget. He'll also want the chance to beat Neal at his own game, like a drawn-out chess match that they both still have stakes in.

Bowman gives him an appraising stare, then steps back far enough for Neal to slide past him into the penthouse. He sees a painting on the wall - a Thayer - and feels Bowman come up behind him and lean close.

“Can’t help yourself, huh?” he says right into Neal’s ear.

“It’s beautiful,” Neal says and licks his lips. His mouth is dry.

“Yes, it is,” Bowman agrees, but they both know he’s not talking about the painting.

 

***

 

Peter sits in the surveillance van with Jones and Diana, listening in.

“Can’t believe he got in,” Diana says to no one in particular. God, but Caffrey’s slick.

She thinks Peter’s probably unaware that he looks so tense, so pained, that he looks like a raw, exposed nerve and it hurts to look him in the eye. “He’ll be okay,” she tells Peter, in a low voice only they can hear. “Caffrey can take care of himself.”

They hear the sounds of rustling, Diana thinks Caffrey’s taking off his coat. She hopes this isn’t going to go as far as she thinks it is, she doesn’t know if Peter can take it.

Caffrey’s talking about a Thayer now and the probable value. Bowman has expensive taste. She kind of hates people that drop millions on stupid modern paintings. Thayers are nice, but Rothkos just look like blocks of paint to her. Doesn’t mean she thinks anyone should steal them, though, and it’s why she became an FBI agent and not a gallery docent.

The sound of a zipper and shit, Peter’s face is terrible to look at.

She perks up when she hears Caffrey mention the trades going live tomorrow. A low grunt, the sound of bodies moving against each other and the creak of a bed. She carefully doesn’t look at Peter, thinks it might make her sick.

A lot of talking and then Bowman says something about AcelRx being a solid bet and she pulls out the file, flips it open and sure enough, it’s the company to watch in tomorrow’s trades.

“Sure thing?” she hears Caffrey ask between wet sounds that she doesn’t want to think about.

“I have my sources,” Bowman says, voice low and hoarse. “I’m sure.”

“Gotcha,” Peter says, throwing his headphones down. He grabs his walkie-talkie and says, “Move.” They all get up and jump out of the van.

Diana can’t ignore the way her heart stutters. She’s afraid of what they’re going to find.

 

***

 

Neal’s in the bed - thankfully wearing boxers - when Peter bursts through the door. His hair’s mussed and his lips are swollen and Peter has to physically drag his eyes away from him to cuff and read Bowman his rights.

“Get Neal his clothes,” he says to Diana. “And don’t leave him alone with the Thayer.”

 

***

 

Neal gets dressed awkwardly, all of his natural grace gone. Diana looks away and tells the guys to clear out for a minute, give him some privacy.

“Caffrey,” she calls over her shoulder, she hears Neal pause his movements. She tries to sound sympathetic, tries to dispel the awkwardness and maybe make things right between Peter and Neal, but what comes out is, “You did what you had to. And we got the bad guy. I call this a win.”

“Yeah,” Neal says, his voice shaky, and resumes dressing. “A win.”

 

***

 

Peter’s alone in the bathroom, his harsh breath echoing off the empty stalls around him. He has paperwork to process, but he called El earlier, told her not to wait up.

He unzips his pants with numb fingers, fumbling with the button and pulls his cock out, breath hissing between his teeth. He gives it a light squeeze and closes his eyes, mind back in the van, listening to the rustle of fabric, the low sounds he recognizes as Neal’s. The breathless, wet sounds. The creak of bedsprings, Neal’s sweaty, mussed hair, curling against his nape, his reddened and swollen mouth. He strokes himself harshly, angry with himself and sick to his stomach and reliving it over and over until he feels the pressure build up low in his belly, feels his mind go blank and white and comes, biting the knuckles of his other hand to keep himself silent.

He leans his head against the cool metal of the stall and lets his heartbeat and the pounding in his eardrums slow. When he thinks he can move without his knees bucking, he leans back, grabs some toilet paper and cleans himself off.

He leaves the stall, splashes his face with cold water in the sink.

He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror.

 

***

 

Neal’s standing in Peter's office when he gets back. The lights are out and he's no more than a slim silhouette in front the window, outlined in silver by the low lights of the city, unreal and elegant.

“We going to talk about this?” he asks without turning around when he hears Peter come in.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, feeling tired and foolish and lonely. 

“For what?”

“Don’t play stupid,” he says. “It’s unbecoming on you. What you did in the past is...it’s none of my business. And I won't ever ask you to do anything like that again, _ever_.”

Neal nods slowly and Peter watches the muscles in Neal's body relax, one by one as if he'd been carrying a secret tension that Peter had gotten so used to seeing that he hadn't recognized it was there. “All right. Are we going to be okay?”

Peter stands beside him in front of the window, taking in the view, nowhere near as nice as the one from Neal’s studio, but still, nearly overwhelming in its beauty. Peter takes a deep breath, firmly pushes all thoughts about Neal out of his mind, lets go of his resentment and jealously. You always want you can’t have, he thinks, and you can either let go of the driving, overwhelming need or you can let it shred you from the inside out. He feels something dark and ugly he’d been nursing uncoil in his gut. He breathes it out, and it feels like release. Forgiveness, maybe.

“One day, we'll be okay,” Peter says, and he’s surprised to realize that he means it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The end.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You guys need to calm down some. This is fiction. It's an exploration of what if the characters were darker, what if. It is not a true character study. The characters as written on WC would never do any of this. Neal has shown on multiple occasions that he has lines he won't cross and I believe this is one of them, except in my story, he does.
> 
> In the story, Neal consented because he felt like he needed Peter's forgiveness, for disappointing Peter. He was ashamed of his past actions. That is why I consider this dubious consent - if someone feels like they can't say no, does it really matter that they say yes? After all, Neal's freedom and Peter's good opinion of him often hang perilously on the criminal they catch that week - a fact which Peter constantly reminds Neal of on the show.
> 
> Peter realized too late that he didn't have to forgive Neal, that frankly, he needed Neal's forgiveness - all of Peter's terrible actions were based on lust and jealousy and tons of other ugly emotions. The most important element is that they needed to forgive themselves. Peter for acting like an ass and doing something terrible and immoral and Neal for making a stupid, stupid decision years ago.
> 
> And at the end of the fic, I do not say that they ARE fine, I simply said that Peter believes they WILL be.


End file.
